Chapter 244: Preparation

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“So, I’ve now been promoted to second lieutenant and am in command of this platoon?” Borol asked, looking at the letter of appointment and the promotion document sent from battalion headquarters, his face devoid of any joy. He had been holding this position for a whole night. The parachute platoon, which should have had a full 38 officers and men, now had only 21.

That is to say, the entire parachute platoon had 17 men killed or missing, more than a third. And of the remaining 21, two were wounded. One had a broken foot because his parachute had been torn by an anti-aircraft gun, causing him to land too fast. The other, although he could fight, had his face wrapped up like a mummy.

Now he had been appointed as the platoon leader, responsible for commanding a force of no more than 20 men, including himself, to defend a line nearly a kilometer wide. To be honest, he would rather have given this job to someone else. After all, it was not a good post.

Amidst the congratulations of his men, Borol slung the MP-44 assault rifle he had stripped from a corpse over his shoulder and, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, walked out of the room. The good news was that he now had a Bofors 40mm anti-aircraft gun. He had also been reinforced with a Panzerfaust anti-tank team from the battalion. So the force he could now use was actually 22 men, including one medic.

As for why he had been reinforced with an anti-tank team, that was very bad news. In the early morning, the German Air Force had reconnoitered the southwest of the Netherlands and had confirmed some very bad news. The French army was entering the Netherlands, led by armored forces, and was advancing toward the Waalhaven area.

“The order from division headquarters is to set up a defensive position here and to block the enemy’s advance for at least two hours,” the officer who had come to deliver the order said, following Borol out. “Then you can retreat to the Willemsbrug bridge and rendezvous with the paratroopers there to continue organizing the defense.”

“Twenty paratroopers? To stop a French armored division here?” Borol glanced at the officer and laughed. “If you can find me some support, I might give it a try.”

“Support? We can’t give you much… but you can tell me what you need. I’ll do my best to meet your request,” the officer said, taken aback for a moment, and then hurriedly replied.

“Help me find a tank. From the 3rd SS Panzer Division, number 113,” Borol said, taking a photo from his breast pocket. In the photo, a big boy with a face full of freckles was leaning against tank 113, smiling shyly. “The commander’s name is Rein.”

The paratrooper officer who had delivered the order was taken aback, then chuckled. “Alright! I’ll go back and ask for you. If their tanks can fit in a plane, I’ll definitely have them come here to help.”

“Just kidding,” Borol said, handing the officer a cigarette and helping him light it. “Fighting an armored division is not our strong suit. I need anti-tank firepower, the more the better. And ammunition, enough ammunition for us to break our machine guns.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” the officer said, patting the white dust on Borol’s shoulder and nodding. “I’ll have them send some over when I get back. If there’s any good stuff, I’ll try to get a couple of pieces for you.”

After speaking, the officer got on a BMW motorcycle, put on his goggles, started the engine, and drove along the highway in the direction of Waalhaven.

“Baru! Get the second squad leader over here for a meeting! We need to lay out the tasks,” Borol shouted helplessly to a subordinate who was cleaning his gun in the distance. “Have your men check all the Dutch weapons. Give them a try.”

Baru had been promoted to leader of the 1st squad, and the original assistant squad leader had replaced the killed-in-action second squad leader and had been appointed as the temporary commander of the 2nd squad. For now, the command structure of the 1st squad was the best preserved, because the leaders of the other two squads had been killed in action, and the assistant squad leader of the other squad was also dead.

At noon, Borol, who was eating hot soup and black bread, finally received his supplies. To be honest, he really hadn’t expected to receive so many supplies and weapons.

An artillery squad, driving two Dutch civilian cars and pulling a 75mm light anti-tank gun, had arrived at the village. They had brought 20 anti-tank mines, 20 anti-personnel mines, a full 7,000 rounds of ammunition, and two boxes of hand grenades. Of course, there was also canned meat and hard black bread.

“Second Lieutenant Borol?” the commander of the artillery squad was a sergeant, a bearded man who did not look young. “I have been ordered to support you. The mission has been changed. We are to hold here for at least three hours, after which we can retreat.”

Borol rubbed his nose. He knew that nothing falls from the sky. The higher-ups had given him supplies beyond his imagination, so they would definitely stuff him with an even more arduous task.

“Did you lose a draw, or did you punch your superior?” Borol asked, taking a drag from his cigarette, bowing his head to blow a smoke ring, and speaking in a somewhat teasing tone. “To be sent on this kind of hellish mission.”

He walked half a circle around the light anti-tank gun, patting the barrel with his hand. This cannon, in order to accompany the airborne troops on their missions behind enemy lines, had had its weight reduced by every possible means. It had no gun shield, the directional adjustment mechanism looked somewhat simple, and the hollowed-out support legs had to be fixed in place by digging pits or finding stones to prop them up.

The design requirement for this cannon was that a dozen or so paratroopers could push it, and while being able to use anti-tank shells, it also allowed for the firing of high-explosive shells to support the paratroopers. It was clear that so many requirements had created a nondescript monster. This mutated 75mm cannon had average armor-piercing capabilities, and when using high-explosive shells, its range was very limited, only a short 5 kilometers.

It is worth mentioning that the support mission of this cannon was later replaced by the 120mm heavy mortar, because in terms of size and practicality, the latter was clearly superior. And its anti-tank mission was also shared by the lighter Panzerfaust. For a weapon, this was undoubtedly ironic. But on the principle of not being wasteful, this weapon was still in use among the paratroopers as a form of supplementary firepower.

“I slept with my superior’s wife,” the bearded man said with a grin, clearly quite humorous. “Of course, the other cannons were sent to the main defensive position to the west. I hear that’s where the enemy’s main attack will be.”

“Should I celebrate that?” Borol asked with a smile, pointing to the area around the village. “You guys pick a spot to set up your anti-tank gun position. Try to conceal it well. I’ll give you a Maxim gun, with about 1,000 rounds of ammunition. You can arrange it yourself.”

“It seems you’ve gotten a lot of good stuff,” the bearded man nodded. “In a little while, we’ll hide the cars behind that haystack over there. When we need to retreat, I hope they’ll still be there.”

“Sniper team, you find the best position for yourselves,” Borol said loudly, giving his pre-battle arrangements. “Infantry, each of you take a landmine and set up a minefield on the roads leading into the village on both flanks.”

“Baru, take some men and lay the anti-tank mines on the main front. Set up firing points on both sides. Use the Maxim on the first defensive line. After you’ve run out of ammunition, just abandon it,” Borol said, pointing to the houses on both flanks. “Move the sandbags from the Dutch trenches and build cover in the rooms. These houses are all wooden and can’t withstand bullets.”

“Sir, if the enemy has tanks, the buildings might not be very safe,” Baru said, pointing to the rooms. “Wouldn’t it be better to defend from the trenches outside the village…”

“Don’t worry. As long as we repel the first French attack on the perimeter, their artillery will turn this place into a ruin. Then we’ll have plenty of places to find cover,” Borol said with a smile. “Pay attention to conserving our ammunition. We’ll fight an ambush first.”

At that moment, the bearded man ran over. “Lieutenant, we’ve found an excellent position on the edge of the village, by a small warehouse. There’s a pile of hay there. Our anti-tank gun can be positioned there.”

As he spoke, he pointed in the direction. “There’s a drainage ditch at the main entrance of the small warehouse. It can be blocked on both sides to make a trench. We can keep watch over the entire perimeter of the village. The line of sight is very good.”

“Baru, you take two men to help and modify that place,” Borol said with a nod. “Second squad leader, you take that Bofors to the other side to form a crossfire. If a tank tries to approach the anti-tank gun, then you use the Bofors to attack its rear.”

“Everyone, carry as much ammunition as possible! There will be no resupply after we run out! Don’t touch the ammunition belts! Leave them for the two MG42 teams,” Borol said, pointing to the village behind him. “Gather all the food you can find, and distribute all the wine!”

The German paratroopers immediately began their scrounging mission. Chairs from the residents’ houses were carried into the trenches. Some furniture was piled up around the houses to thicken the walls as much as possible. Wine and food were stuffed into their pockets, ready for a picnic during the fiercest part of the battle—if they had the time.

A dozen or so kilometers away, on the highway, dust blotted out the sky. A French general stood on a high ground by the side of the road, proudly pointing at his troops and boasting to two British reporters behind him. “The Germans threw their paratroopers into the Netherlands in an attempt to disrupt our deployment, but they overestimated themselves. My tank units can sweep away those Germans who only have rifles and retake the important areas of the Netherlands in one go. They’ve already lost this battle.”

“The German paratroopers achieved very excellent results in Poland, and I’ve heard on my way here that they’ve also made a big stir in the Netherlands. Why are you so confident of dealing with these elusive German paratroopers, General?” one of the reporters asked, looking up as he took notes.

“I have weapons they don’t have. Is that not enough?” the French general asked, shaking his head. He pointed to the tanks advancing on the slope below. “I have large-caliber artillery as support, and 200 tanks. How can they possibly win against me?”

Click. The other French reporter pressed the shutter of his camera, capturing the smug moment of the arrogant French general.